


Five Times Sherlock Tried To Tell John How He Feels, And One Time He Did.

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Precisely what it says in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sherlock Tried To Tell John How He Feels, And One Time He Did.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something short and sweet and silly, and this is it.
> 
> Thanks to mydwynter for looking it over super quick for me, not that this really warrants it, but there you go. You rock.
> 
> (I am working on the next chapter of TDoS, I promise. I have Thursday and Friday off this week, and I'm almost finished with my grad school applications, so hopefully I can get it finished by Friday.)

1.

“John, I--”

The man in question looks up and raises one eyebrow. “Have you been digging through skips again?”

“I--what? No. Well. One. It was--”

“For a case, yes.”

“That’s not--John.” 

“Yes?”

“What I mean to-- Oh, hell.”

“Sherlock?”

“No, nevermind. Good night, John.”

“You might want to shower before bed, Sherlock. Burn that suit, perhaps.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor.” He doesn’t miss the fond smile.

Sherlock is almost all the way down the hall to his room when he hears John again.

“Sherlock?”

He stops. “Yes, John?”

“Me too.”

2.

“John? Are you awake?”

“No. Go away.”

“You clearly are.”

“Sherlock, what time is it?”

“It’s two forty-seven in the morning.”

“Exactly. Go away.”

“John, I just--”

“I’m asleep, I’m not listening, GO AWAY NOW.”

“All right, John, I just wanted--.”

“NO.”

3.

Not at a crime scene.

He refuses to do it over a corpse.

Not even Sherlock Holmes thinks that’s a good idea.

4.

“John, I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s not unusual.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, John.”

“I wasn’t actually being sarcastic, Sherlock. You _are_ always thinking about something.”

“Just because I actually _use_ my brain for its intended purpose--”

“And no one else does, yes, yes. We all run our internal organs on idiocy.”

Sherlock huffs and crosses his arms. “Forget it.”

John smiles at him. “No, no, go on Sherlock.”

“It’s--”

There’s a tremendous screech as the cabbie slams on the brakes, nearly throwing both men off the seat. 

After things settle, no one dead, no one really the worse for wear except for the adrenaline crashing through everyone’s bloodstream, John turns to look at Sherlock closely.

“All right?”

“I’m fine, John. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Sorry, lads, she came out of nowhere!” the cabbie says from the front seat, indicating the car they’d nearly hit.

John chooses not to comment on the death grip Sherlock has on his hand. He chooses not to comment the rest of the way home.

5.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Experiment.”

“Oh, of course. I don’t know why I even bother asking anymore.”

Sherlock can practically see the eye roll John’s giving him behind his back. Nevertheless, he’s busy.

He’s busy, until he isn’t.

_Now_ he thinks. “John--”

This is precisely the moment he hears his brother’s footsteps on the stairs.

_Goddammit._

So instead he twists in his chair to yell, “We don’t want anything you’re peddling, Mycroft!” down the stairs.

Mycroft ignores him, of course, continuing on his leisurely way up the stairs.

“Good afternoon, John,” he says when he steps into the flat, completely ignoring his brother.

Sherlock gets up with a lot of petulant muttering under his breath, stomps down the hallway and slams the door of his room behind him.

+1

John smiles at him as he sets the plate down on the table in front of him. On it is one egg, scrambled, with a bit of cheese on, a slice of toast with jam, no butter, and two small slices of bacon.

“Eat, Sherlock. It’s been days.”

Sherlock nods. He’s actually too hungry to argue, for once. The case had gone on longer than he’d thought it would. 

John sits down across from him with his own plate, piled on with far more food than Sherlock’s. They both tuck in, the flat quiet but for the sound of them working their way through their breakfast.

“John?” Sherlock says, around a bite of toast.

John looks up at him, a questioning expression on his face. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

John grins at him for a moment, sheer joy in his eyes. “I know,” he replies, and takes another bite of bacon.


End file.
